


A Monument To Build Beneath the Arbors

by MooseFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bakery!AU, Brotp, Fluff, Gabriel is a good big brother, I don't know man, Pets, Romantic Comedy, apparently?, don't look at me like that, the boys are still hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakery!AU- Castiel owns a bakery with his brother Gabriel, and everything is pretty quiet until Castiel takes care of a stray dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Castiel can’t quite master ironing, but that’s okay because his bread is impeccable.

He wakes up, early early early- painfully early every day and shuffles downstairs from his tiny apartment to his modest shop. A _boulangerie_ his brother Gabriel calls it. A bakery, he calls it. Castiel has always been stripped of the pretention, of the ego that hounds his older brother. Castiel is happy to be a simple baker with a simple bakery.

He’s unhappy to wake up at Three AM every morning, however.

He slides out of bed and asks himself why, why, _why_ he thought being a baker was a good idea. The thought persists until he gets out of the shower and into a cup of coffee. Coffee, Castiel finds, softens the decidedly pointed edges on Three Forty Five In The Morning. He takes fifteen minutes to himself before he flicks the light on in the stairs and comes downstairs.

There are a handful of smells that are there every morning. The faint hit of last night’s bleach. The aroma of the coffee from his cup. The headiness of carbon dioxide.

Castiel sets his coffee down on the bench and begins to work with the starter. Some of it gets thrown in with more flour and more fat, and the rest gets fed.

Sourdough, Castiel knows, is a miracle on earth. He meditates on magic of it every morning as he mixes measures of flour and sugar and water back into the starter. He replenishes it, and it draws the yeast from the air. A symbiotic relationship of nourishment and sustenance.

_This is why I wake up in the morning_ , he thinks as he works his taken measure of starter into a enormous mass of dough.

The dough rises, and then he works it into rolls and loaves. Gabriel comes in soon after to work on his end of the shop- _patisserie_ , he calls it (Castiel still just calls it a bakery). Not long after, the bread goes into the oven, and not much longer after that still, the bakery opens.

There’s fifteen minutes, Castiel knows, before they’re rushed. Then they’re solidly busy from minute to minute until about Nine. There’s fifteen minutes, and then they’re solidly busy for Gabriel’s work until two in the afternoon.

Then it’s just plain dead in there.

It’s dead from Two all the way through the afternoon, so Castiel cleans. He wipes the display case, he sweeps, he dusts. He keeps the radio turned down low, and between brushes of the broom or swipes with the rag, he keeps an ear out for the chime of the bell above the door.

It usually doesn’t come, the tinkle of it, so the radio plays uninterrupted and Castiel sweeps on.

Usuallyis the operative word.

Castiel fetches his broom out of the back and hums along-lay its head on summer’s freckled knee- in the yellow light of a hot afternoon. The air conditioner loudly sputters on. The ceiling fan groans.

The bell chimes.

“One moment please,” he calls as he grabs his dustpan and scoops the miniscule pile of flour, crumbs, and dust into the trash. He wipes his hands on his sides and looks up and it’s two men.

Two large men- one large man and another very, very large man.

He’s just trying to wrap his head around the size of them in comparison to himself (about a half a foot’s difference between them) when the larger of the two holds up a photograph and says, “Hi, my name is Sam Winchester and my dog has gone missing. I was wondering, have you seen him?”

Castiel is just beginning to grab an answer when the smaller says, “Come on Sammy, I guess the answer’s ‘no.’ We’ll try somewhere else.”

“May I see your picture?” He finally says, gathering himself. “I didn’t get a very good look.”

The larger man smiles as he pulls the photograph back out and hands it to Castiel. “His name is Bones. He’s really sweet.”

Castiel examines the photograph intently- the larger man (Sam, he said his name was?) embracing a large blonde dog. “I’m sorry,” Castiel says as he hands the photograph over. “I haven’t seen him.”

Sam(?)’s face falls. “Well, thanks anyway,” he says.

“I’ll certainly be on the watch, though,” Castiel adds. He bites back irritation with himself- he always forgets these kind of niceties. “Do you have a flier or a number I could call in case I do find him?”

He runs his hands through his long brown hair. “Yes, but,” he begins-

“But we’re on the move,” the shorter one (a brother?) interrupts. “Our work keeps us on the road.”

“We could come back for him, though,” the other pipes up, and Castiel can tell from thelookthe smaller one shoots him that these men are definitely brothers. “I mean, here,” he says and hands him a slip of paper, a phone number and name hastily scribbled on it. “Call here if you run into him and just say you’ve got Sam’s dog. We’ll come get him, don’t worry.”

Sam- the taller one butmost likelythe younger brother- turns around now to face the other. “You read to go, Dean?” He says.

He nods. “Yeah,” he replies. “Let’s get out of here.”

They smile politely, leave their thanks, and leave just as suddenly as they came.

Castiel doesn’t expect to ever see them again.

It’s maybe three days before Castiel thinks about them again.

It’s a Sunday, and thus busier than the rest of the week. Everyone has flooded the store to buy fresh loaves and cakes and he wouldn’t have noticed, honestly, if he hadn’t given the unpleasant woman still in her Sunday clothes the wrong change.

Castiel is ducking back from fetching a dime instead of a nickel when the dog catches his attention.

It’s a large, blonde beast. It sits paitiently outside of the window.

Castiel shuts the register and called to the back- “Gabriel,” he says firmly, loudly. “Take the front, I’ll be right back.”

_It’s my business, too_ , he thinks against the protestations of his brother.

He squats down next to the dog, and the dog doesn’t run. Castiel doesn’t have much experience with animals, only knows that that’s pretty remarkable.

He gently pats the dog. The dog looks like he’s fine with this.

Castiel checks the name tag on the collar.

Three hours later, he’s still not sure why he did it.

He tells Gabriel as he gently ushers the dog- Bones, as he now knows- that he’s taking the rest of the day to himself.

Bones sits paitiently on Castiel’s living room floor until he drags up the phone number and dials it. Nervous.

A man gruffly answers, “What do you want now, ya idjit?”

Castiel coughs nervously. “I have Sam’s dog?” He says.

“Is this some kind of joke?” the man growls.

Castiel fights the urge to shake his head. “No,” he replies frantically. “I apologize, my name is Castiel Milton, I’m a baker in Maple Springs, New York. Two men came into my bakery about…three days ago looking for a dog. I believe I’ve found him.”

A sigh from the other end of the line. “Of course,” the man replies. “I’ll pass word along, Mr. Milton. Can you handle him for a few days?”

“Yes,” he says, barely knowing  it leapt out of his mouth before it registers what he’s agreed to. “Yes, the dog should be fine in my care.”

He’s never even successfully kept a houseplant alive before, much less a dog.

Castiel gets off of the phone after providing his address with the assurance that one of the men from the other day will be by to pick up the dog within the week.

He sets the phone down on the table and turns to look at the dog.

The dog almost looks like he’s smiling uncomfortably, sitting in Castiel’s tiny apartment. He seems to be examining Castiel- the curious tilt of the man’s head, his uncombed hair, his simple jeans and t-shirt over a slight frame.

Castiel frowns under the dog’s innocent scrutiny. “I suppose I should find some food for you, yes? And probably a leash?”

He should feel ridiculous, asking a dog questions, but it’s not like there’s any other source. Castiel takes the dogs not-unfriendly woof as a yes and nods.

“Gabriel, there’s a dog in my apartment, if you could keep an eye on him, I shall be back shortly,” He shouted to his brother as he left the building.

“What do you mean-” He could hear just before the door shut.

Castiel learned at the small pet store (so conveniently located just down the street) that there is a truly _bewildering_ assortment of dog products.

Small dog food. Big dog food. Wet, dry, in gravy, makes own gravy. Leashes. Harness. Big dog beds, small dog beds. Toys- squeaky, non-squeaky, rubber, rawhide, stuffed. Shampoo. Flea and tick.

It’s overwhelming, truly.

So he just buys one of every kind of food and toy, a bed, a harness, and shampoo.

He hopes it’s enough.

It’s enough.

The dog spends twenty minutes sifting through the toys before he finds one rawhide twist and one stuffed moose and sits down, contented, in his bed. This after he tears through one large bowl of dry food (Castiel is careful to read the serving size and then gives the dog a little more. He’s probably hungry.) and before The Bath.

Castiel doesn’t know what he expected, but he could not have anticipated the amount of water that wound up _everywhere but in his bathroom._

He draws the water lukewarm and carefully, gingerly, leads the dog into the tub.

The dog whines, high as he climbs obediently in and lets Castiel wash him. He humms as he runs the lather through the dog’s thick coat-Mama take this badge off of me-and rinses the shampoo out.

“There,” he whispers, satisfied, “was that so bad?”

The dog climbs out of the tub and shakes.

Water goes everywhere, literally everywhere in Castiel’s tiny apartment and Castiel throws his arms up, defensively, laughing.

“Whoah there, whoah there!” He shouts, cackling.

The dog finishes, and Castiel pulls down a towel and helps to dry the animal off. He just hopes he’s put all of his books away, that none of them are damaged, but he can’t be angry. The dog is just a dog, and he does as he wills.

The dog seems tired after that, so Castiel takes him downstairs and outside (he knows that he’s averting disaster with this move).

He’s coming back up to apartment when he hears, “Brother,” from downstairs.

Castiel visibly winces. He knew he was forgetting something. “Yes?” He calls from his own position.

Gabriel swaggers- the man can’t simply walk anywhere- to the stairwell and looks with facetious concern at Castiel and the dog. “Were they going to give him to the glue factory, Cassie?”

Castiel blushes in spite of himself. “It’s for a few days,” he says. “His owners are coming in from out of town. I don’t mind.”

Gabriel looks at him a way that can only  be described as ‘sassy’ and says, “Well, I just hope you can manage on your own.”

Castiel just vows that night to stop anticipating things, because he just keeps being wrong.

The dog hates the bed. The sun barely goes down and Castiel is barely asleep underneath his blanket when he hears the dog’s unmistakable whine next to him.   
“Hello, Bones,” Castiel says, groggy.

The dog barks at mention of his own name and place a paw experimentally on the bed. He looks to Castiel for approval.

Castiel isn’t sure what approval he gave, but apparently, a signal passed between man and dog, and Bones leaps up from the floor to sprawl across the foot of Castiel’s narrow, twin mattress.

The dog is heavy atop Castiel’s feet, but he doesn’t move, too deeply cocooned to move or care or do anything but sleep.

He wakes up at Three AM, as usual,

He stumbles out of bed, into the shower, uses shampoo (smells differently today), dries off, almost stumbles over the dog, puts on pants and then-

Oh yes, Bones.

He finishes getting dressed, pours himself a cup of coffee, and fumblingly latches the harness onto the dog.

Castiel doesn’t notice how he forgot his shoes until they go outside and he feels the cold and wet between his toes. He raises an eyebrow at the sensation.

Bones finishes, and they go back in.

Castiel slides into his shoes upstairs, takes off the dog’s harness, and the dog gets back in bed. He burns with envy- he hates the mornings- before he pours himself another cup of coffee and starts the day’s bread.

Castiel’s brain and day are both full- when he’s not with Bones his mind inevitably roams upstairs. When the business day essentially ends at Two, he hands the shop over to Gabriel and takes the dog to the park.

The day is lovely, bright and clean. Castiel cannot remember the last time he was really outside for any serious amount of time, and he enjoys the stroll to the park. There’s a soft breeze which disperses any serious heat, so it’s just warm and pleasant and good.

Castiel brought along a frisbee, and Bones goes absolutely insane. They play, back and forth, for easily an hour, and Castiel discovers that he doesn’t mind the interruption in the quiet. He discovers, on the contrary, that he quite likes the noise.

They are clambering into his apartment, noisily, happily, just as the sun goes down. He feeds Bones, lets him back out one more time, and goes to bed entirely too late (Half-Past Eight is Midnight for a baker). Bones once again drapes himself across his feet.

Castiel doesn’t mind that either.

A few days happen like this, the routine bending and adapting into something new but in a familiar shape. Between the feedings and the time outside and warm feet at night, Castiel finds himself thinking of Bones more and more as _his_ dog.

He’s kneading one morning, comfortable in the zen-haze of his palms into the dough, when he hears a dog barking. It takes a few seconds for him to sift it into reference, when it occurs to him- Bones is barking.

Castiel dashes upstairs, opens the door, and the dog is barking at the ringing phone. He breathes a sigh of relief as he answers it, patting Bones as a reflex.

“Castiel Milton,” he answers, voice still gravelly from little use.

“Hey,” the other end says. “You have my bitch brother’s dog?”

“Pardon?” He replies, vaugely aghast at the abruptness.

“Dean Winchester?” The man says. “My brother Sam, tall guy with hair like a girl, lost his dog? We came by your place and-“

“Oh yes!” Castiel cries aloud. “Yes, Bones! Yes, he’s here and quite well.”

A sigh comes from the other end of the line. “Well, I’m coming through your area today. Can I come pick the hound up?”

“Yes,” he replies.

He unintentionally grasps at Bones’ collar a bit as he replies.

The shorter of the two men, true to his word, shows up later that day. His car, a huge, rumbling beast of a thing, pulls up in front of the bakery, and he steps out.

Castiel wishes he didn’t notice it, but he does. He wishes he hadn’t been waiting for it all day, but he had.

The man steps out of the car, bowlegged. Castiel doesn’t watch him intently from his sweeping ( _you were born here_ ,the radio mournfully whispers).

The bell above the door chimes as he comes into the store. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Dean? We talked on the phone.” He extends a hand.

Castiel is glad he has the bearings to seize it and introduce himself. “Hello, Dean,” he says simply. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean Winchester is very different from his brother. All sensible haircut, serious expression, deep green eyes. A smattering of freckles across his nose.

“How’s the dog?” Dean asks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like Castiel’s when he wakes up in the morning.

 ”He’s quite well. He was very patient with me,” Castiel replies. “I must admit, I know very little about the care of animals.”

 He guides the man upstairs to his apartment, when he begins, “Listen, we can pay you for your trouble.”

“No,” Castiel says firmly, turning around in the narrow stairwell. “Bones was no imposition.”

Dean looks a little surprised. “Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes,” he says as he unlocks his apartment.

Bones dashes happily from the back of the apartment to the open door, tail eagerly wagging. Castiel affectionately scratches his head, catching him behind the ear in the spot he likes most.

Bones sees Dean, and he brightens even more, leaping upward to lick at Dean’s face. Dean looks vaugely displeased. “Hey, down,” he firmly commands.

Bones sits.

“Let me just get his things together,” Castiel calls as he dashes through the apartment.

Dean raises an eyebrow as he surveys the small space.

  It’s maybe six hundred square feet, one common space bleeding into a tiny kitchen with a table and a large, comfy chair. A bedroom, a bathroom. Undecorated. Simple. Every available surface covered in books and dog toys.

Dean scratches the dog behind the ears (he doesn’t like this dog, no, really) and tries to pick up the texture of this guy from his apartment.

It’s clear he’s the only person who lives here- the small laundry basket stashed in a corner. It’s evident he likes the quiet- no television, no radio, no computer. And his interests- _Social Theory, Basic Woodworking Projects, Advanced Woodworking, The Tao Te Cheng, The Bible with Apocrypha_ \- are varied.

There are a few books about dogs in there, too.

Castiel comes back moments later with a bag, bulging with items. “These are some of his favorites,” he explains as he hands it over to Dean.

He pulls a harness off of a hook on the wall (“He’s too big for a leash,” he explains) and straps the dog into it.

As Castiel is bent over, Bones licks his face a couple times. Castiel smiles- he doesn’t mind. “I’ll show you the way out,” he says as he rises, handing the harness over to Dean.

Bones whines as he climbs into the car.

Bones whines all the way from Maple Springs.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel misses his dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the sweet comments on the first part! :D

Sam is so happy to see his damn dog, and the dog is happy to see Sam right back. Bones does all of the correct dog greeting- happy barks, wagging of tail, licking, but after all of that, he goes into the bag Dean left sitting on Sam’s bed and drags out a new toy- a stuffed moose- and lays in front of the hotel door.

He growls when Sam goes to remove the harness.

When Dean comes back from getting dinner, Bones sits straight up and looks at Dean, expectant. He whines a bit in the back of his throat.

“What’s up with your dog?” Dean asks, pointedly.

“I have no idea,” Sam replies, a little defensive. “He won’t let me take off that harness.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s odd,” he states.

“Yeah, I know,” his brother responds. “I’m a little worried about it.”

Bones didn’t eat as much as he usually did that night.

* * *

 

Castiel slept fitfully that night.

He woke up irate.

He opened the bakery in a funk.

He swept with ennui.

He closed exhausted.

He slept fitfully.

A low level headache spread across his frontal lobe and left him feeling dizzy and grouchy.

It was too damn _quiet_. Somewhere, in the handful of weeks he had been taking care of the dog, he had accumulated noise into his life. And somewhere in that handful of weeks, he had learned to love it. 

He came down the stairs one morning at three, his coffee in hand, his irritation a tangible cloud about him. Rather, he would have come all the way down the stairs if Gabriel was not standing halfway down them, arms crossed hip thrown out so firmly it surely altered his spine. 

"Bed," he said, commanding.

"What?" Castiel murmured, tiredly.

"Bed," Gabriel repeated. "You're turning around and going back to bed. You were off your game yesterday and today doesn't look that bright either." He reached forward and turned Castiel around, marching him back up the stairs. "I know breakups suck, bro. I know getting dumped hurts. You're gonna take a day, you're gonna wallow _properly._ You're going to _finally_ listen to that Joni Mitchell CD I gave you, you're going to eat nothing but food that is bad for you, and you're damn sure not going to change out of your sweatpants."

"But," Castiel started, "but I didn't get dump-"

Gabriel opened the door and shoved his brother through. "You're dog left you for another family. This is as close as I think you've ever been to being dumped. You get a day to pout. You're going to pout today, damnit. And then tomorrow," He spun Castiel around, and looked right up into his eyes, "you are going to call them and ask to see your damn dog again."

"Wasn't my dog," Castiel murmured. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes, huge and theatrical. "Sure, little brother."

He slammed the door. 

And Castiel took another sip of his coffee and lay back down in his narrow, empty bed. 

He felt ridiculous. 

He missed his dog. 

* * *

Sam looked at Bones from the front seat. The dog was laid out long and sad along the bench back seat. His big eyes looked sad. He looked pitiful in his harness. 

"Dean," Sam said, "did you notice anything off about Bones when you picked him up?"

Dean shook his head, looking forward with absolute resolve. "No," he answered. "Not much. Seemed to like the dude who found him though."

Sam nodded and reached back to pet his dog. "Really?"

Dean nodded again. "Yeah," he answered. "Probably enjoyed some time off the road, you know? Something domestic."

Sam's heart clenched hard at that. He scritched behind Bones' ears. "Do you know when we might be headed back toward Maple Springs?"

Dean shrugged loosely. "Couple of days, maybe a week or so? Word circulating of a haunted house not fifty or sixty miles from it. Could probably swing through, if you wanted to."

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, that might be a good idea."

* * *

The phone sat adversarial in front of Castiel. It was five. He was two hours behind schedule and had slept maybe four hours last night, but he could not care. 

He drained his coffee, put the mug down beside the phone, and went downstairs. 

When Gabriel came in at nine o'clock as the first loaves were going into the oven, he looked both surprised and proud of Castiel's relative unproductivity. 

"Don't ruin it for me," Gabriel greeted as he flicked the lights on and started the register, "but I'm going to take the late open as a sign that you overslept for once and actually enjoyed your day off."

Castiel said nothing, electing to not 'ruin it.' 

"Did you call them?" He asked. 

Castiel winced slightly. "I'll call them," he said. "I will."

He did not have to look at his brother to see the way his eyebrow cocked. "The longer you wait, the harder it will be," Gabriel lectured. 

"I know," Castiel answered. "I am not _completely_ emotionally stunted, Gabriel."  The _ding_ of the opening register punctuated his sentence as Castiel came out of the kitchen, wiping flour on the seat of his pants. 

Gabriel smiled at Castiel over his shoulder. "I swear, sometimes I have trouble believing we're related."

"You're so good at everything," Castiel murmured. 

Gabriel frowned. "No I'm not," Gabriel shot back. "If you weren't in charge, this place wouldn't be here. We'd have fallen apart years ago. I'm good at being irresponsible, and I'm good at bullshit. Cas, you're good at _reality._ You're good at facts." He smiled loosely, sheepishly. "Unfortunately for you, ninety percent of social interaction is bullshit."

Castiel smiled. "You're kind."

Gabriel dodged through the opening between the counter and the storefront and unlocked the door. "No," he answered, "just very rarely honest."

Castiel headed back to the kitchen and began work on the next loaves of bread, and tried not to think about missing walking Bones in between batches. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks so much for the subscriptions, the comments, and the kudos! Your support really means a lot to me! Sorry this chapter took so long to put out, the next one should come much quicker.

The phone was not his friend. The phone was his enemy, adversarial in front of him, daring his dial. Daring his hands to pick it up and make the call he had planned out in his head so thoroughly but was unable to actually dial.  
The phone then mounted an ambush of it's own design by ringing, causing Castiel to bodily flinch hard and heavily.  
He answered, hesitantly.  
"Hello?" he asked.

"Hi," was the answer. "Castiel, right?"

"Yes," Castiel answered. "Yes, this is he. Who am I am speaking to?"  
"Um, this is Dean? Winchester? Sam is my brother, the dog guy."  
"Oh!" Castiel cried. "Oh yes, Bones. How is he? I was just thinking of him."  
"Yeah, about that. We've been having some trouble with him. We were wondering if anything happened while you had him," was the reply.

Castiel jerked back in surprise. "What?" he asked. "What kind of trouble? He did like to be up rather early for his walk, but he usually handled the apartment well until the afternoon. Have you tried using a different kind of shampoo? I've heard that some dogs have allergic reactions. He's also very affectionate- have you been letting him sleep in the bed with you, because that can affect how well he sleeps-"  
"No, no, no," was the answer. "No, I mean...it's nothing like...look, we're going to be back in Maple Springs in a few hours, could we swing by, maybe let him see you?"

"Yeah," Castiel answered. "Yeah, no problem at all."  
 And that went better than he could have ever imagined.  
He put the phone down and rubbed his hands on his butt out of habit, brushing the flour that wasn't there off onto his dark pants. On any given day, Castiel would be left with the ghost handprints of flour on himself, and this day was no exception. Gabriel liked to crack jokes about Castiel's 'baker's butt,' his single occupational hazard.

He came down the stairs, and if he worked with a little more energy than usual, Gabriel didn't say anything.

* * *

The bakery was just as Dean remembered it. Quaint pastel paint gently fading. Striped awning. Ceiling fan slowly turning. Old, seafoam green radio sputtering in  corner. It was precious, and there was something about precious that Dean didn't trust. Call it one too many bad hunts in suburbia, call it one bad experience with a small dog, something about it made his teeth itch.

Bones practically dragged his brother inside, and impressively wrested control of himself from Sam in order to leap onto the man Dean remembered as Castiel.

He fell, smiling to the floor, scratching the dog behind his ears and indulgently letting himself be licked. "Hello, Bones," he greeted. He stood with the dog winding happily between his legs. "I'm Castiel. I know we've met before, but perhaps I should introduce myself more formally?" He extended his hand.

Sam took it, smiling. "Hi, I'm Sam."

Dean pointed to himself. "Dean," he said.

"Oh yes," Castiel replied. "You were the one who came for Bones once I had found him."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

At that moment, a man shorter than Castiel came out of the kitchen. He seemed to emit sugar like it was in a cloud; Dean could practically see the sticky vapor of it come off of him when he threw his hands on his hips and said, "The health department will be on my ass if you guys don't get that dog out of here. Go take a walk or something before I throw a fit."

Something in Castiel's expression seemed to suggest that they were brothers.

* * *

The park was not far from the bakery, and it was pleasantly green and cool and moist in the afternoon. Bones walked ahead of them, tugging on the lead Castiel was holding.

"So baking," Dean asked, "how did you get into that?"

Castiel smiled. "I was in college, actually. Studying to be an accountant and failing all of my classes. Gabriel was a  year above me and taught me stress bake. And the more I baked, the more I failed and the more I failed, the more I baked, and the more I baked, the better I got at it. And soon, I had a devoted following of bread and pastry buyers and a GPA that couldn't hold any scholarships. So we dropped out and opened the bakery."

Sam nodded.  "Yeah, I ran into some stress in school, too. My girlfriend died midway through the semester and I had some trouble with midterms. Didn't make it through."

"Oh," Castiel said. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Sam shook his head. "No, don't be. I mean," he continued, "What happened was...was really bad. And I made a lot of mistakes after. I'm done being angry, though." He gently took the lead back from Castiel.

"She and I," he said, "we got Bones from a shelter together. "

And suddenly Castiel understood. The dog wasn't Sam's.

The dog was hers.

"He's a beautiful dog. Very well behaved. Very smart," Castiel said. "I was honored to care for him."

"Yeah,"Sam continued. "We got really lucky. He wasn't much hard to train, either. He's saved our lives a couple of times."

"Saved your lives?" Castiel asked. "What do you do?"

 Dean laughed, a little too brightly, a little too loudly. "Sam's exaggerating," he said. "We're traveling salesmen. Kids love a dog, and he helps us make a sale sometimes."

"Yeah," Sam answered quickly. "Being hyperbolic."

Castiel had grown up youngest of several brothers, and he knew well the tone of quickly hidden truth. He also noticed the way Dean changed. The way the temperature seemed to drop and the way he stiffened. 

He made a note to himself to look up "Sam and Dean Winchester Salesmen" online. 


End file.
